Day 19

My body a tray of ash,
Housing dead flames
When burning has exhausted them
And their destination is unknown

I am the soft jar
That is your pillow
Filling up with your tears
When your eyes shed bad memories

My lips a soft cloth
Wiping off all the blood
When there is no more skin
Left for you to slice

I am the truth
Hidden in church songs
When the singers are deaf
Yet louder than the Word

My breath like the wind
Is the music
Beckoning dry leaves
To twirl in mid air
So to share a dance
Before their ultimate demise
Under cruel shoes

I am a faulty door knob
Between you and death
Refusing to open
For I know
If he swallowed you
He would barely notice
And death is proud